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upright,” said the Dean.
    “I’ve never seen anyone eat anything of Dibbler’s and get away without paying,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
    The figure spun happily around the square, tears streaming down its face. The gyrations took it past an alley mouth, whereupon a smaller figure stepped out behind it and with some difficulty hit it on the back of the head.
    The sausage-eater fell to his knees, saying, to the world in general, “Ow!”
    “No no no no no no no!”
    A rather older man stepped out and removed the cosh from the young man’s hesitant hands, while the victim knelt and moaned.
    “I think you ought to apologize to the poor gentleman,” said the older man. “I don’t know, what’s he going to think? I mean, look at him, he made it so easy for you and what does he get? I mean, what did you think you were doing?”
    “Mumblemumble, Mr. Boggis,” said the boy, looking at his feet.
    “What was that again? Speak up!”
    “Overarm Belter, Mr. Boggis.”
    “ That was an Overarm Belter? You call that an Overarm Belter? That was an Overarm Belter, was it? This —excuse me, sir, we’ll just have you up on your feet for a moment, sorry about this— this is an Overarm Belter—”
    “Ow!” shouted the victim and then, to the surprise of all concerned, he added: “Hahahaha!”
    “What you did was—sorry to impose again, sir, this won’t take a minute—what you did was this —”
    “Ow! Hahahaha!”
    “Now, you lot, you saw that? Come on, gather round…”
    Half a dozen other youths slouched out of the alleyway and formed a ragged audience around Mr. Boggis, the luckless student and the victim, who was staggering in a circle and making little “oomph oomph” sounds but still, for some reason, apparently enjoying himself immensely.
    “Now,” said Mr. Boggis, with the air of an old skilled craftsman imparting his professional expertise to an ungrateful posterity, “when inconveniencing a customer from your basic alley entrance, the correct procedure is—Oh, hello, Mr. Ridcully, didn’t see you there.”
    The Archchancellor gave him a friendly nod.
    “Don’t mind us, Mr. Boggis. Thieves’ Guild training, is it?”
    Boggis rolled his eyes.
    “Dunno what they teaches ’em at school,” he said. “It’s jus’ nothing but reading and writing all the time. When I was a lad school was where you learned somethin’ useful . Right—you, Wilkins, stop that giggling, you have a go, excuse us just another moment, sir—”
    “Ow!”
    “No no no no no no! My old granny could do better than that! Now look , you steps up trimly, places one hand on his shoulder here, for control…go on, you do it…and then smartly—”
    “Ow!”
    “All right, can anyone tell me what he was doing wrong?”
    The figure crawled away unnoticed, except by the wizards, while Mr. Boggis was demonstrating the finer points of head percussion on Wilkins.
    It staggered to its feet and plunged on along the road, still moving like one hypnotized.
    “He’s crying,” said the Dean.
    “Not surprising,” said the Archchancellor. “But why’s he grinnin’ at the same time?”
    “Curiouser and curiouser,” said the Senior Wrangler.
    Bruised and possibly poisoned, the figure headed back for the University, the wizards still trailing behind.
    “ You must mean ‘curious and more curious,’ surely? And even then it doesn’t make much sense —”
    It entered the gates but, this time, hurried jerkily through the main hall and into the Library.
    The Librarian was waiting, holding—with something of a smirk on his face, and an orang-utan can really smirk—the battered hat.
    “Amazin’,” said Ridcully. “It’s true! A wizard will always come back for his hat!”
    The figure grabbed the hat, evicted some spiders, threw away the sad affair made of leaves and put the hat on his head.
    Rincewind blinked at the puzzled faculty. A light came on behind his eyes for the first time, as if up to now he’d merely been